


The Cultivation of New Growth

by Vitreous_Humor



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Plant abuse, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Trauma Reenactment, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-18 03:16:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21520975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vitreous_Humor/pseuds/Vitreous_Humor
Summary: “Er. That plant.”“Yeah?”“May I have it?”“No!”The vehemence with which he responded  made them both pause. Crowley was startled by the anger that welled up at the thought of handing the jade plant over to Aziraphale, and that was downright weird because he was not in the habit of denying the angel much at all.“I mean,” he said carefully, “if you want a plant, let me give you one of the snake plants or maybe the big coleus. They'd be good for the shop, pretty stalwart in the dark...You don't want this one, it's rotten.”“Actually,” Aziraphale said firmly, “I do want that one.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 438





	The Cultivation of New Growth

So, the plants.

After the Apocanot, between one than and another, if one thing was bluffing Hell and Heaven with a pair of threes and the other was nervously, anxiously, and hopefully beginning to court Aziraphale and allowing himself to be courted in return, the plants sort of got shelved.

Oh, Crowley continued to take good care of them, water, humidity, blood meal, bone meal, the whole nine yards. They wanted for nothing, and they were too well-behaved by far to go completely off the rails if he could only spare a nasty look and a spat curse on his way out the door.

They bloomed green and lush and gorgeous, Crowley started to get used to coming around to Aziraphale's place without a surreptitious check for surveillance, and things were going just fine until they weren't.

He just woke up _off_. No big deal. It happened sometimes. Why wouldn't it? He was a near-immortal creature of hellfire and malice, cast out of Heaven and sent to trouble the restless dreams of mankind; he was _allowed_ to have an off day or three.

But Crowley woke up off, and Aziraphale was coming over later, and it was turning into one of those days when he was just always a hair behind, no matter what corners he cut or what he did to catch up.

It was close to five by the time he got around to tending to his plants, and a little later than that when he realized that the little jade plant he'd acquired a few years ago had not one but several shriveled leaves. They were towards the back of the plant, as if it were trying to hide them, and he glared at it.

“Are you fucking joking with this?” Crowley demanded, his voice low. “You are, right? Did you think this was in any way acceptable? You have been _told_ and _told_ what is acceptable, and if this is what you've _decided_ to do, then we are obviously having a problem.”

The jade plant seemed to shudder when he picked it's pot. Good. It had to come to sensible fear, even if it was rather too late.

“It seems that I have been a little too lenient with you lot lately,” he said, raising his voice to carry. “I take my eyes off you for a single blessed second, and you decide that you can do whatever you like. Well, let me remind you what a very bad idea that is...”

He carried the jade plant, now wilting a little more than it had been before, around to the rest.

“You weren't here very long at all, so I doubt they're going to miss you, but maybe you can at least be a decent cautionary example.”

He carried the jade plant towards the kitchen, scowling at the way the thick plump leaves drooped over his fingers.

“Don't _snivel_ ,” he snapped. “I won't stand for it. And it's too late for that in any case, it already was when you started thinking that shriveled leaves were somehow _just ducky...”_

He was intending to chuck the jade plant straight into the garbage disposal when he came into the kitchen and realized he wasn't alone.

“Aziraphale,” he said with surprise.

They stared at each other, Crowley with a terrified and inadequate jade plant in his hands and Aziraphale with the red velvet cake that Crowley had bought to share in his.

Crowley blinked, and Aziraphale, who did so even less frequently, did as well.

“That was for later,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale blushed a little.

“Well, it looked so very lovely, I just wanted to take a... a closer look at it.”

Crowley nodded at the cake knife, plate and fork on the counter.

“Of course, makes sense.”

“I'll... put it back, shall I?”

Crowley grinned.

“Nah, have a slice now if you want. If we go to that molecular gastronomy place that you found, it's not like you're going to ruin your appetite.”

“Oh, very true,” said Aziraphale, pleased. “Would you like me to cut a slice for you as well?”

“Only if you're not going to let me have the last bite.”

It was a demon thing. Demons could get a full meal off of stolen bites and last bites, which made them irritating dinner companions but impressively cheap and easy to feed.

“Of course you may, I would insist.”

“'Course you would, angel,” Crowley said fondly. “Here, just give me a tick, and...”

He blinked when Aziraphale stepped between him and the sink, cake still in his hand and a slightly odd look on his face.

“Angel?”

“Er. That plant.”

“Yeah?”

“May I have it?”

“No!”

The vehemence with which he responded made them both pause. Crowley was startled by the anger that welled up at the thought of handing the jade plant over to Aziraphale, and that was downright _weird_ because he was not in the habit of denying the angel much at all.

“I mean,” he said carefully, “if you want a plant, let me give you one of the snake plants or maybe the big coleus. They'd be good for the shop, pretty stalwart in the dark...You don't want this one, it's rotten.”

“Actually,” Aziraphale said firmly, “I do want that one.”

Crowley's fingers tightened on the pot in his hands. It was on the tip of his tongue to argue with Aziraphale, but there was a certain look on Aziraphale's face that suggested he save himself the trouble and do something similarly productive instead, like banging his head against a brick wall. The angel was stubborn when he got that look, and blessed if Crowley could ever figure out why he got hung up on the silly little things he did.

“... What'll you give me for it?”

“What do you want for it?” Aziraphale countered softly, tracing a finger down Crowley's throat.

Before Crowley could respond, he leaned in to place a beguiling kiss on Crowley's chin followed by the sauciest little lick.

“Oh c'mon, angel, no _fair...”_

“Why would I ever play fair, darling?”

Crowley started to reply, but then Aziraphale's hand slipped down his hip, sliding around to fondle his rear, and he had to press his face against Aziraphale's neck to hide his blush.

“Angel, come on... oh for... all right, just... at least put down the blessed cake, will you?”

Later, they did get around to eating the cake, though it was far too late to go to Golos, and then it was just easier to stay in bed, wasn't it, which combined sloth, lust and given how justifiably proud Aziraphale was about certain skills, pride as well, and that was just ducky.

Crowley was drowsy when Aziraphale left for home at dawn, and when he woke up properly around noon, he had forgotten about the jade plant entirely.

\---

Crowley didn't think of the jade plant at all for another two months, not until he was back at Aziraphale's with a rather good brandy that he was very proud of himself for sharing rather than drinking on his own. Aziraphale was in the kitchen fussing over a charcuterie board, and as Crowley stretched out on the sofa, his gaze snagged on a certain pot and a certain jade plant.

“Oh, well look at you,” he said with some amusement. “Fallen on your feet, have you?”

Of course it didn't respond, and Crowley rose from the sofa to examine it a little more closely.

Aziraphale had secured a handsome tartan bowtie around the pot, but otherwise it looked much as it had looked at Crowley's flat. Two of the shriveled leaves had dropped off, he saw with disapproval, and it was listing slightly to one side.

“What a disappointment,” he said, shaking his head. “Saved by the one creature in all of Creation that could save you, and look at you now, falling over like you haven't got a care in the word. Pathetic.”

He frowned, because now that he thought of it, it _was_ ungrateful, wasn't it? It was. Aziraphale had saved it from a fate worse than white fuzzy mold, and look at how he was being repaid.

“All right, you,” he said, leaning in. “Play time's over, right? I may not own you anymore, but I'm over here all the time, and if you think I'm going to _tolerate-”_

“Darling, what are you doing?”

Crowley turned, stifling a stab of guilt and then wondering why he felt guilty. It wasn't like he had been doing anything wrong.

“Oh, just having a word with the-”

“Oh! Yes, isn't it doing well?” Aziraphale said with a beaming smile. He set his charcuterie board on the table along with two tulip glasses.

Crowley scowled.

“Doing well?” he asked in a tone that had once made an phalenopsis orchid die of fright. Aziraphale, not actually being a plant at all, seemed unfazed.

“Oh yes, the brave little thing,” Aziraphale said proudly. “It's putting out a brand new leaf where one of the old ones fell off. It's _new growth,_ according to my book.”

“Your book?”

Aziraphale reached under his chair to pull out a book that looked entirely out of place in his elegant bookshop. It had a glossy cover picturing a cheerful little girl with Afro puffs holding up a jade plant with the kind of triumph usually reserved for world conquerors. The book was apparently titled _Splendid Succulents,_ and from what Crowley could tell thumbing through, it was written for people who worried that their cactus was looking a mite thirsty.

“This is wrong,” Crowley said, flipping through the slick pages. “You can't just water every three days.”

“I can't? Should I be watering it more, then?”

“What? Satan, no. It's _as needed,_ angel. That means that you check the soil every day. You water when the soil is completely dry and not before. Could be three days, could be a week, there's no telling.”

“Oh! Well that makes sense, doesn't it? Thank you, Crowley, I am so glad you caught that before I did some kind of irreparable harm.”

Crowley warmed under Aziraphale's praise and quickly took a sip of brandy to hide it.

“Doesn't matter, anyway. If you ruin this one, I'll just give you another. I told you before, there are others-”

“I like this one,” Aziraphale said in a tone that indicated the matter was closed, and they moved on to other things.

That night, before he left, he cast a baleful look at the jade plant.

“I hope you know how very lucky you are,” he growled. “Not everyone gets a second chance like you've got.”

\---

The next time Crowley made it over to the bookshop, he saw that a little wooden stake had been stuck in the jade plant's pot, and pieces of twine had been used to lash the plant's main stalk to the stake.

“What's this?” he asked when Aziraphale came out with the wine bottle. “It's not a bleeding bonsai...”

“I saw it was looking a little bit tilty, the other day. My book suggested staking it and hoping that the support would help it strengthen the main stalk. I think it's helping a bit, don't you?”

“It would be, but look here. You're using twine and it's cutting into the stem, you see? You need fabric strips to do the job properly.”

He showed Aziraphale the spots where the twine had bit into the jade plant's fleshy stalk. There was already a bit of moisture leaking from the worst spot; it looked a bit like a wound.

“Oh no,” Aziraphale said, eyebrows drawing together in sorrow. “Goodness. I had no idea I was doing such a bad job. Is... is it too late to fix it, Crowley?”

Crowley snorted.

“It's a cheap little jade plant, angel. They're like twelve quid if you don't get them on sale. I'll buy you a new one if you're so attached.”

“But is it too late to fix this one?” asked Aziraphale, sounding far more anxious than the matter deserved. “Are you telling me it is quite ruined?”

The word _ruined_ sent a nasty shudder up Crowley's spine. He scowled.

“Of course it is!” he exclaimed. “Just look at it! It's lost leaves, you've got it lashed up like it was on life support-”

“I meant the damage from the twine,” said Aziraphale sternly, and Crowley threw up his hands.

“No, probably not,” he said.”Replace the twine with fabric strips like I said, and dust the raw spots with some anti-fungal powder to make sure that they don't pick up anything nasty. Should be fine.”

Aziraphale looked incredibly relieved. What a strange angel he was, when most of Heaven would damn the world to get one over on Hell.

“Oh wonderful. I was so afraid-”

“Over, I repeat, a twelve-quid jade plant.”

“-and I shall fix it at once.”

Then Crowley had to wait while Aziraphale cut some strips of fabric out of an old handkerchief and removed the twine, speaking softly as he did so. Crowley stretched out on the sofa and tried not to eavesdrop, but it wasn't like Aziraphale was very far away.

“Poor little thing, I am so very sorry. I didn't know better. There, dear. You'll be feeling better in no time, won't you? I shan't hurt you like that again, I promise.”

Crowley hunched in on himself, turning on to his side to face the back of the sofa. He told himself he didn't ache over the softness of the angel's voice. Of course Aziraphale was soft. That was certainly not news.

“Why don't you just miracle it better?” he demanded.

“Pardon?”

“You did it all the time at the Dowlings' place. You would've been out on your ear if you couldn't. Just... just miracle it better. Make it perfect. Why don't you do that rather than taking all this trouble?”

“Oh. Hm.”

Aziraphale considered.

“Why don't you?” he asked gently.

Crowley didn't have an answer for that.

\---

He didn't come around to liking the jade plant. He couldn't, not when it seemed to yellow with the least provocation, not when the main stalk acquired a distinct bend even after the staking had gotten it standing upright again.

However, it lived in the bookshop with Aziraphale, and Aziraphale seemed so blessed fond of it, turning it so that grew evenly, always checking the soil to make sure that it had just the right amount of moisture.

Close to Christmas it picked up a case of scale, and Crowley very patiently showed Aziraphale how to dab at the affected spots with a bit of rubbing alcohol. It was touch and go for a bit, and they lost enough leaves that it looked quite lopsided, but it survived, and something about how relieved Aziraphale was over that made Crowley's heart tighten in a funny way.

He didn't much like looking at the jade plant, with its less than perfect leaves and its lopsidedness, but when he told Aziraphale so, the angel only pursed his lips.

“It doesn't have to be nice to look at. It doesn't have to be anything but what it is,” he said, and Crowley gave up because they were never going to understand each other on this matter.

So matters went on until sometime after New Year's, when Crowley spotted a twisted stalk on the coleus.

“What in the name of the holy fuck is this?” he demanded. “Are you serious? Do you really think that something like this would be _forgiven_? I have absolutely been too soft on you lot if you didn't learn from the jade plant.”

He reached for the coleus, blinking when he realized that Aziraphale was standing in the doorway. The angel had a strange look on his face, his hands folded in front of him as if otherwise they would be fluttering in stress or worry.

“Oh, hey, angel, how long have you been here?”

“I just walked in the door. Crowley, what are you doing?”

“...Gardening?”

“That is not what it sounds like from here.”

Crowley scowled, because he had had quite enough of someone who didn't even understand temperate zones lecturing him about _gardening._

“Well, it _is,_ Aziraphale,” he snapped. “ _Some_ of us would rather not have ugly little shrubs in their garden. _Some_ of us actually care about keeping up appearances and proper discipline. You can't have them thinking that it's _all right_ to go dropping leaves and picking up scale left and right, no matter what the little loser sitting in your east window does-”

“Crowley, don't you know they love you?”

Aziraphale would have stunned him less if he had punched him square in the chest.

“No, they don't.”

Aziraphale suddenly looked less like an eccentric bookseller and more like something that had seen the stars lit and the nebulae kindled. He looked very old and very sad.

“Of _course_ they do, my darling. You care for them. They see you every day. You help them grow. Of course they love you.”

Crowley shook his head. He looked down at the coleus. It was shivering, not out of fear but because his hands suddenly felt less steady than they were a moment before.

“That's not true,”

“It's not like humans feel love, or animals. Not even like places can. But they do feel it, in their leaves, in their roots. They know you, they are terrified of you, and they love you.”

“Because I take care of them.” Crowley felt numb except for something soft and hateful and quivering inside him.

“Yes.”

Crowley was still as Aziraphale tactfully took the coleus from his hands. When Aziraphale held it, the twisted stalk looked... not good, but maybe less like the sin it had been a moment ago. The entire solarium looked different somehow, or maybe it was only that he was different than he had been.

He wanted to smash every single plant in the place.

He wanted to cry, because he wasn't thick enough to miss the things that Aziraphale was so kindly not putting into words.

He was so tired. It wasn't fair. It never had been.

“I could take this one back to my place,” Aziraphale suggested after a while. “You told me that it liked shade...”

It would have been easier. The jade plant could have a friend. Coleus did remarkably well in low-light conditions.

Keeping it would be difficult. He would have to stare at that twisted stalk all the time, and then it would mean that the others would relax, think it was _just fine_ to drop leaves and develop yellow spots and burned tips. They would think it was just fine to question him.

Love was difficult.

“Nah,” he said at last. His voice was thicker than usual, but it was steady enough. “Nah, just leave it here. I read that you can untwist bends like that with some training like they do for bonsai. Bit beyond your skill set, begging your pardon, angel. I'll do it.”

“I'm sure you're right,” Aziraphale said. “Now you promised to show me that television program you found, the one with the bakers?”

“I did,” said Crowley with relief. “C'mon, I'll order you some take-out so we can enjoy it properly.”

It turned out that Crowley was right. A certain amount of retraining and creative staking fixed the bend in the main stem quite neatly. It was never as straight as it had been, but the bend was corrected, and the coleus leaves, pale green splotched with a showy fuchsia, were as lovely as ever.

It wasn't perfect, but somehow, it was still all right.

It was forgiven, and Crowley realized one day, rustling the velvety leaves to simulate a breeze, that it forgave, as well.

**Author's Note:**

> -So, everyone gets a “Crowley and his plants” story, right? I love how this fandom's got set pieces.
> 
> -I don't have plants anymore, and I miss them. I do have a little marimo, however, which is very sweet and damn near unkillable, so far as I can tell.


End file.
